


The Star Stone

by AppleSeeds



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Crowley (Good Omens), First Aid, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Memory Loss, Mystery, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Prophecy, Riddles, T rating for swearing because Crowley, Two Beds One Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26010496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSeeds/pseuds/AppleSeeds
Summary: Heaven punished Aziraphale by making him human and taking away his memories. Hell figured this was punishment enough for Crowley and just crossed the job off the list.Now Crowley is searching for an occult (originally ethereal) artefact that could restore Aziraphale’s angelic nature, but the only man who can help him doesn’t remember who he is.Aziraphale quickly becomes much more than just intrigued with the enigmatic scholar seeking his assistance, eagerly joining him on a modern-day quest to unravel mysteries and solve riddles to find the artefact. As they spend time together, Aziraphale's feelings develop and he struggles with the fact that his new acquaintance’s heart quite evidently belongs to someone else... or so he believes.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 100
Kudos: 250





	1. The Mysterious Scholar

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably write this really quickly because who am I kidding any more?
> 
> I have a digital escape room I need to write for an event, so could have used being in the "writing puzzles to solve" head space to get that done, but I didn't, I wrote this, because that's just how my life works.

Aziraphale crouched down, dusting one of the lower bookshelves. The bookshop had been quiet, and he was starting to worry about how few sales he had made; he could really do with having some more customers this afternoon. Alone with his thoughts, he wondered if perhaps he should make more of an effort to advertise, and he really should _at least_ set up a website. He couldn’t quite figure out why that was something he hadn’t done yet. When he considered how he’d been running the bookshop, it often seemed like didn’t want to actually sell his books, but of course that would have been preposterous.

Aziraphale heard the bell jangle above the door, indicating that, perhaps in answer to his prayers, a customer had just walked in. He breathed a sigh of relief and rose to his feet, determined to help the customer find whatever they were looking for and make at least _one_ sale today.

“Good afternoon, can I help you find anything in particular?” Aziraphale greeted the customer with a smile. The man had only taken two steps into the shop before Aziraphale had appeared from behind the shelves. The customer now froze in position, seeming to consider him. He hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans and furrowed his brow. It was hard to tell where exactly he was looking, his eyes concealed by sunglasses that he made no move to take off despite having stepped inside. Aziraphale shifted uneasily under his apparent scrutiny. “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so... I’m sorry, I’ll just leave you to browse, shall I?” Aziraphale asked rhetorically, turning away and hoping he hadn’t made the customer uncomfortable and cost himself a potential sale.

“I’m looking for occult texts, anything on alchemy, demonology, prophecy, that sort of thing. Especially if you have anything that’s unique, one-of-a-kind stuff, you know? The older the better, maybe even something you keep in the back? Stuff you don’t normally have on display? I have it on good authority that you might have what I’m looking for.”

Aziraphale blinked. He had no idea who might have recommended his shop for these sorts of volumes, but he did recall seeing a box of books fitting this description upstairs amongst the piles of boxes that he really must sort sometime. Again, he couldn’t quite figure out why he’d never got around to it. Who could possibly have known he even had them was a mystery.

“I do believe I might have what you’re looking for. I have some first edition books of prophecy out here in the shop if you’d like to start there?” Aziraphale began, pointing the customer vaguely in the right direction. “But as you suggest, I may have some more volumes of interest in the back. I’ll have a look for you now, it won’t take long.”

“Take your time,” he murmured, walking away in a manner that more closely resembled a _saunter_ really, and Aziraphale made no effort to prevent himself from watching the man until he had disappeared from view behind the shelves.

After a rummage around upstairs, Aziraphale quickly found the box he’d been looking for. He couldn’t remember when he’d acquired these books, and really wasn’t sure why he would have decided to do so. These weren’t the kinds of books he suspected he would ever easily sell, although, perhaps today that would change.

When he returned downstairs, he rounded the shelves and found the gentleman was now sitting on the floor. He had placed two books on the floor beside him and had another open in his lap. Aziraphale smiled, unable to ignore how drawn he felt to this man. He'd only enjoyed the pleasure of his company for all of five minutes, but he couldn't help but acknowledge that he already found himself rather taken with him. He was undeniably attractive, but there was something more. Aziraphale felt strangely comfortable with him, almost as though they had met before.

“Here we are, I think these might be what you’re looking for.”

Aziraphale placed the box down beside him and the customer’s eyes widened.

“Yes!” the man exclaimed, almost as if Aziraphale were showing him something specific he had been looking for, rather than a relatively non-descript cardboard box. “I mean, that looks like a lot of books, thank you, that’s great.”

Aziraphale gave him a small, unsure smile before retreating back to the till, where he sat for at least half an hour, with no further customers entering the shop, before he heard anything of the stranger behind the bookshelves.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Aziraphale started at the unexpected outburst, and leapt up from his seat to investigate, for one thing determined to rule out that the man hadn’t somehow hurt himself.

“Is everything all right?”

The man was sitting cross-legged on the floor as before, a whole series of books littering the space around him now. He once again had one open on his lap.

“This translation is horrendous!”

Aziraphale felt a pang in his heart, as if he had been personally insulted. He had rather a close attachment to the books in his shop. _And from the way you run it, it’s as if that attachment is so close you don’t actually want to sell them_ , he challenged himself.

“Bequeathed? I think you’ll find the fallen angel didn’t _die_. And betrayed? What’s that about? How is asking questions _betrayal_?”

Aziraphale crouched down to read over the man's shoulder. As he leaned in close and breathed in his scent, his heart quickened involuntarily.

_Fallen angel, bequeathed to me_

_This stone in time to restore he_

_Punished by those that he betrayed_

_The sky performs its cycles as they rise and fade_

_To start anew throughout this place_

_Above he, them both, fallen from grace_

_Seek out my sanctuary to retrieve the stone_

_Else the serpent be cursed to be alone._

“Oh, that sounds interesting,” Aziraphale said softly.

“That _betrayed_ really gets to me; doesn’t fit with the story. The _fallen angel_ didn’t betray anyone,” the man huffed.

“Then perhaps it’s referring to someone else?” Aziraphale offered with a smile. The man studied it again for a moment.

“Yes, if it’s prophetic, but _betrayed_ would still be unfair. Did the job he was supposed to do and incurred their wrath for it? Doesn’t sound like betrayal, does it?” Aziraphale wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical, but the man continued regardless. “I suppose it’s just the translation. Every time they translate it they think they still have to make it rhyme. Don’t care how much they have to bastardise it in the process. D’you think you have the original Latin in here?”

“I think I spotted one Latin volume in here. You read Latin?”

“Mmm.”

Aziraphale rooted around in the box and dug it out.

“ _Quod superius, sicut inferius_ ,” Aziraphale read aloud from the book’s cover.

“As above, so below. Might as well be a book about bureaucracy,” the man chuckled humourlessly.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Head Office is full of insipid gits wherever you go.”

“I see," Aziraphale replied, although he really didn't see at all. "Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” Aziraphale clasped his hands together and headed back towards the till.

Another hour passed. Aziraphale had still not welcomed any further customers into the shop, and the mysterious man had shown no signs of leaving. Aziraphale should possibly have felt a little put out, after all, this was a _bookshop_ not a _library_. But he liked having the man here. He couldn’t explain it, but the bookshop felt more comfortable, more complete. It was a ridiculous notion, really. Looking for an excuse to speak to the man again, Aziraphale headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on and then stepped back out into the shop.

“Forgive me for intruding but you’ve been at it for quite some time, would you like a cup of tea, I was just about to make one?”

Aziraphale winced, afraid that his offer would sound like a poorly-veiled attempt to get the customer to leave. It couldn’t have foregone the man's consideration that spending over an hour sitting on the floor of a bookshop was a little strange, but the man seemed perfectly at ease, like he felt that he belonged there too.

“I’m fine thanks.”

“Oh, all right, then.”

“Look, I know this must seem a bit strange to you. Don’t worry, I do intend to buy all of these books, as long as you think you can bear to part with them?” His lips curled up ever so slightly, and Aziraphale could make out the wrinkling around his eyes just to the side of his sunglasses.

“Yes I think I could manage that, this is a _bookshop_ , after all,” Aziraphale smiled. The man looked up then, the small smile that had started to form vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He now seemed rather forlorn. “It will be rather expensive,” Aziraphale felt obligated to say.

“Whatever it costs, I’ll take all of them.” He held out a credit card to Aziraphale. “Whatever you think they’re worth, just double it or something. Do you mind if I keep working here for a while though?” he asked, never actually lifting his eyes from the volume open on his lap.

“Oh, of course not. You’re more than welcome to use the table?” Aziraphale suggested.

“Thanks.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, shaking his head as he walked over to the till. It was difficult to know exactly how much to charge for the books, after all, he had never priced them up and displayed them in the shop. He let himself give it some thought, as it was evident that the man was in no rush, and reached what he believed to be a fair price. He would never double it, no matter what the man had said or how slow business had been, that just wasn’t in his nature. He processed the transaction and returned to find that the man had indeed relocated to the table.

“That’s all taken care of for you. Thank you for your business. Oh, are those constellations?” Aziraphale enquired curiously. The man had taken out a notebook and was scribbling patterns in it, dots connected together by lines. “I do stock books on astronomy as well if you do need to consult them?”

“No need, I know them well enough.”

“Well, I am most impressed!” Aziraphale beamed, then caught himself, taking a step back away from the table. “I’m so sorry, I’m disturbing you. Excuse my curiosity, I’ll just...”

“Nyeeeah, nah, it’s fine. Why don’t you bring your tea over here, keep me company?”

The invitation made Aziraphale’s heart soar much more than he could justify. It was unsettling, the responses this man was able to elicit within him when they had only just met. Of course everyone finds their attention drawn by someone they find attractive from time to time, but Aziraphale could already feel his heart racing, his mouth becoming dry and his stomach doing somersaults, which really did seem like a bit much.

He scurried off to fetch his tea, in his favourite mug with angel wings as usual, before taking a seat at the table and starting to hope (particularly now that he’d just made more than enough money for the entire week) that no one came in to interrupt them.

“You’re a scholar, I presume?” He received a sound that could possibly be interpreted as affirmative in response. “What are you working on?”

“Trying to find something. Well, not find it exactly; I know where it is. I need to know how to actually get it.”

“That sounds incredibly exciting! May I look?” The man spread his palms out in invitation.

Books were strewn all over the table, many of them left open. Most of them comprised only text, but where there were illustrations, snakes seemed to dominate the imagery. Aziraphale reached out for one of the more modern books. He turned it towards himself and began to read aloud.

“ _Serpent's coils unfurl, he weaves_

_Throughout my soul, the world,_

_The leaves of trees._

_Fallen below are apple seeds_

_That scatter every time he breathes_

_An art that doesn't come from peace._

Oh, that’s actually rather lovely. What does it mean?”

“That goodness and beauty can come from evil. That it’s not just black and white. Like all the wonderful things humanity has created, all originating with the temptation of Eve.”

“Oh, I see,” Aziraphale considered the words again, then continued reading the rest of the verse.

“ _He drags up darkness long denied_

_Seen in others to be despised_

_While within me sealed inside._

_Deceiving the Genesis divide_

_To see my whole, guarded, I hide._

_But am I truly me if only mine?_

What does that mean?” Aziraphale asked, but started to fear that he was annoying the other man. It was so hard to read his expression behind those sunglasses.

“Embracing every aspect of yourself, even the darkness, the things you don’t like in other people that are also within yourself. It’s the recognition that you, that _anyone_ , isn’t truly good or evil. An angel can be a complete and utter bastard sometimes. Even a demon can be a good person, to some extent. Maybe even be a bit _nice_.” That smile crept up on his lips again.

“Oh, I really don’t think that could be true,” Aziraphale countered. Once again the smile faded, and Aziraphale winced, feeling responsible for it. “ _Am I truly me if only mine?_ That’s very romantic. I suppose that means that we become whole when we share ourselves with someone else?”

The man stared at him, his lips parting, the muscles of his face twitching. Aziraphale was definitely being annoying.

“It doesn’t mean _that_!” the man growled. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “It means if you’re evil and you realise there’s some good in you, or the other way around, then you need to stand up and show it to the world. Be who you really are and let people see it, otherwise you’re _not_ who you really are.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and continued reading.

“ _Hanged and gifted, raise my eyes below_

_Abandon mixtures, dilutions_

_I seize them both._

_Angels only if demons know_

_Light and shadow, and embrace their foe._

_Their union sets seed for me to sow_ ,” he finished.

The scholar spoke before Aziraphale had chance to ask for his interpretation of the final verse. “If a demon can’t be nice, why would an angel want to embrace him?” he challenged. Aziraphale inexplicably felt the colour rise in his cheeks.

“Isn’t it supposed to be metaphorical or allegorical or something?”

“Metaphorical of what?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale confessed. “What’s your interpretation?”

“Balance. Good and evil coming together to create a new world.”

“You’re very good at this.”

“I’ve worked with this stuff a long time.”

“And how will this help you to find the thing you’re looking for?”

“I told you, I know _where_ it is, Aziraphale,” the man grumbled, then looked up suddenly, those covered eyes pointed directly at his own. “That’s your name, yes? Aziraphale? You’re the owner of the shop?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Aziraphale replied softly, more than a little disconcerted. Who did he know who could possibly have recommended that this man come here? Who would have known about the box of occult texts? “And you are?”

“Crowley.”

Aziraphale squinted. There was something so familiar about this man, and hearing his name had only helped to affirm it. But Aziraphale was sure they had never met before. He couldn’t have met someone as utterly captivating and intriguing as this and then just forgotten about it.

“D’you know, I think I’ll continue this at home, get out of your way. Thanks for letting me... yeah.” Crowley was busy haphazardly bundling all the books back into the box. “See you.”

The bell jangled and the door closed behind him.


	2. The Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley considers what Heaven has done to Aziraphale while he works on solving the riddles, and asks Aziraphale to join him on his quest.

Crowley deposited the box of books on the table, flopped down into his throne chair and groaned. He hadn’t realised quite how hard it would be to go to the bookshop today. He had told himself that Aziraphale was all right, that he was still alive, after all, Heaven could have destroyed him completely. But the moment he had locked eyes with Aziraphale today he had been forced to realise that they might as well have. The Aziraphale he knew was gone.

They had talked about _angels_ and _demons_ and _working together_ and forming a _new world_ and being _true to yourself_ for Satan’s sake! And all the while Aziraphale had sipped tea from his angel mug like it was just some novelty gift he’d been given by someone not creative enough to get him anything more personal than a mug in honour of some long-forgotten occasion.

Crowley had hoped perhaps they’d made a mistake. He’d even been conceited enough to assume that there was _no way_ Heaven could eradicate Aziraphale’s memories of _him_ , that surely they had grown far too close and they meant too much to each other for that. But apparently not. The only thing keeping him going was the hope that he could undo whatever Heaven had done and restore Aziraphale to his true nature.

It had been necessary to avoid attention from any prying eyes from either Above or Below, but Crowley was really starting to regret engaging a human to conceal the Star Stone. The human had been an alchemist, a master at keeping secrets and concealing things amongst riddle and mystery, but the more Crowley worked through the books he himself had left in Aziraphale’s possession, the more he feared the lengths to which the alchemist might have gone to keep it protected.

“You were supposed to guard it from other people, not _me_ ,” Crowley growled.

Crowley had taken the Star Stone with him when he fell from Heaven. At the time, the prospect of no longer being an angel, or never being able to return to Heaven, to never have any further involvement with _creation_ , had been devastating. He couldn’t bear the thought of never being able to return. So he had taken the stone, an embodiment of creative power, knowing that one day he could use it to restore himself to his prior angelic form.

Then Heaven had turned into a bureaucratic void of emptiness, deviousness and cruelty, governed by that archangel wanker Gabriel himself. Its only benefit over Hell was the absence of signs typed in Comic Sans, but in many other ways it was even worse. As far as Crowley was concerned they were all as bad as each other, and it didn’t matter, well, it _shouldn’t_ have mattered. He and Aziraphale were on their own side, or at least they would have been.

If Crowley did nothing, Aziraphale would live out the remainder of his human existence and then be gone from the Earth forever. He would never be able to see him again. The thought of it made Crowley’s insides twist into tight knots and he clenched his fists and closed his eyes, trying to push those thoughts aside so he could focus on the task at hand. As soon as he retrieved the Star Stone, he could use it to restore Aziraphale.

It didn’t actually matter whether Aziraphale was an angel or not, what mattered to Crowley was that he would no longer be mortal, and vulnerable to all of the hazards that could befall humans without miracles to protect them. He also prayed it would restore Aziraphale’s memories. Six thousand years of friendship couldn’t just be gone. If it was, he was willing to start over, but he feared that without his memories of the time they had spent together, the acts of kindness towards each other, Aziraphale might not be.

But as confident as he had tried to come across to Aziraphale in the bookshop earlier, there were still parts of the various verses and riddles that he didn’t understand.

“ _Five on one side_

_One another_

_Point of passage_

_Towards each other_ ,” he mumbled.

What in Hell’s name did that mean? He could only hope it would become more obvious when he actually travelled to the place the alchemist had hidden the Stone. Still, he did have one thing definitely figured out; he just wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it.

_“Angels only if demons know_

_Light and shadow, and embrace their foe.”_

There were suggestions of it throughout the texts, and the ‘ _towards each other’_ reference suggested it further. The alchemist had also been a seer, and had written prophecies about this moment that was to come. Throughout them all, he was telling Crowley that he wouldn’t succeed in his quest alone. He would have to take Aziraphale with him.

“Oh, hello!” Aziraphale greeted him when he stepped into the bookshop the following day. Crowley had stayed up all night, a rare occurrence, getting as far as he could with his interpretations of the relevant verses without actually seeing what the alchemist had put in place to guard the Stone.

“Yeah, hi.”

“Is there something else you’ve realised you need for your work?”

“That’s one way to put it. Look, you seemed interested in this stuff the other day?”

“Oh yes, it was absolutely fascinating!”

“I’m going to go get the thing I was talking about. Think I’ve figured enough out to do it. Wondered if you wanted to come?”

Aziraphale brought his arms in closer to his body and his gaze darted around the shop. He had no customers. A short time ago this would have given Aziraphale great pleasure, allowing him a break from the effort of chasing them off, but now Crowley was concerned what the lack of business could mean for a human version of Aziraphale. Aziraphale turned his attention back to Crowley and wrung his hands together in front of him.

_It’s ok, you can trust me. It’s me, Aziraphale. Please come with me, I need you._

“Oh, well, yes, all right!” Aziraphale announced, patting his hands on his thighs and chuckling to himself. “I suppose I can close early on just this one occasion!”

“It’s in Wales.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The place where the object is hidden. It’s in Wales. Not a quick afternoon job, I’m afraid.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale digest this new information, his expression moving rapidly from one emotion to another, starting with confusion, passing rapidly through concern and, much to Crowley’s relief, settling on excitement and intrigue.

“Oh... it’s rather like you’re going on a quest!”

“I am, and I could do with the company. To be honest, some of what you said was really helpful. Don’t like to admit it but I could do with your help.” There was still a hint of uncertainty in Aziraphale’s eyes, and Crowley was determined to dispel it. “I saw your eyes light up trying to work out those verses and riddles. Don’t tell me you’re not interested. You really gonna turn down a real life _quest_?”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow and studied Crowley, who opened his arms out wide in a gesture designed to indicate he didn't pose a threat. Surely, somewhere deep down inside of him, Aziraphale could sense that he could trust him?

“No, I’m not. I’ll come with you,” Aziraphale announced, although it sounded as though he was still trying to convince himself this was a good idea. “I suppose I’d better pack a bag?”

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning,” Crowley nodded, disguising the intense relief that rushed over him and turning back towards the door.

“This object you’re looking for...” Aziraphale began. Crowley spun back around and placed his hands on his hips.

“I’m not _looking_ for it, I know where it is!”

“Yes, well... what is it? Why are you looki--... so determined to retrieve it?”

“It’s important. For someone who... someone who’s important to me. Someone I care about. It’s going to help them,” Crowley murmured softly. Aziraphale licked his lips and cast his eyes down, fidgeting with one of the buttons on his waistcoat.


	3. The Hillside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale get out into the Welsh countryside to begin their quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter just to briefly get back inside Aziraphale's head!

This was insanity. All of those years hiding away in the bookshop with limited social interaction, it had apparently driven him completely insane. Because right now he was four hours away from home (following a terrifying car journey that left him wondering how they’d even made it in one piece), trying desperately not to fall over as he climbed a ridiculously steep hill in the countryside in the southwest of Wales, trailing a man he had only just met, who looked _incredibly_ good from this angle but that was beside the point.

They’d stopped at a bed and breakfast first, where Crowley had apparently booked a room, then they’d dropped off their bags and headed straight out here. They probably had another six or seven hours of decent daylight, and Aziraphale wondered how far they would get with their quest in that time. They were in the middle of _nowhere_ , so when the sun went down it would be pitch black, and he didn’t fancy traversing this terrain in those conditions. Although it was nice to be out in the countryside for a change, and perhaps it would provide him with the opportunity to see the stars. He wished Crowley had warned him, though, so he could have worn more appropriate footwear.

Crowley kept turning around, presumably checking just how far behind Aziraphale had actually fallen. Whenever he seemed to judge the distance between them had become too significant, Crowley would stop and gaze around at the lush, green landscape tipped with yellow and gold as though someone had gone along dabbing a paintbrush, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground. Aziraphale would smile apologetically and then make every effort to catch up, inevitably soon falling behind once more.

The hillside was steep, and Aziraphale was seriously paying the price for never quite getting around to starting that exercise regime he’d been considering. Crowley marched up the hillside as if he were on level ground, his long legs and lithe frame making easy work of avoiding the roots of trees and the piles of sheep and rabbit excrement.

Aziraphale kept having to stop himself from ogling Crowley from behind, as every time he did he was punished with an unexpected stone or root or patch of boggy ground that made him stumble. But he didn’t stop himself from thinking about the man. It was indeed insanity that he was here on a hillside with him, yet somehow Aziraphale just _knew_ that he could trust Crowley. He felt it with every fibre of his being. And if someone was capable of deceiving him so completely and utterly, the state of his life really didn’t bear thinking about.

_Someone who’s important to me. Someone I care about._

Aziraphale’s heart had sunk when he heard those words. There was no way for him to justify such an extreme response, but he felt it intensely regardless. To whomever Crowley had been referring, Aziraphale envied them greatly.

The hillside seemed to go on forever. Every time Aziraphale looked up, the distance ahead of him seemed much the same as before. He huffed and puffed and clutched at his sides.

“Crowley,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, could we rest for just a moment?”

“We’re nearly at the top.” Crowley’s eyebrows knitted together. He seemed to be annoyed with Aziraphale very frequently for someone who had requested his company on his quest and at the table in the bookshop, had paid more than he needed to for the books, and who sometimes smiled at him like he was actually someone worth paying attention to... _Stop thinking about it, it won’t do you any good_. Aziraphale breathed deeply, trying to supply his body with enough oxygen to deal with the stitch he had developed, and forced himself to continue. He didn’t want to disappoint Crowley.

When they finally reached the summit they passed an apple tree, and Aziraphale leaned against its trunk, catching his breath. Crowley went out of his way to kick a couple of the fallen fruits towards the ledge leading to the descent on the other side of the hill. He marched towards the edge with purpose, glanced down, and leapt over it with ease, disappearing from Aziraphale’s view.

Aziraphale pushed himself away from the trunk of the apple tree and followed in the same direction, leaning forward and peering anxiously downwards. There was a ledge below, which Crowley had undoubtedly landed on as elegantly as a cat, but Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t be capable of the same manoeuvre.

“Come on, Aziraphale, it’s not that far down!”

“Will you catch me?” _Oh, pathetic, stop it,_ Aziraphale chided himself.

“I don’t need to bloody well catch you! Just get on with it!”

Aziraphale scooted to the very edge, turning around, shuffling backwards and starting to lower himself down. When he finally committed to the drop, he misjudged the distance, his foot reaching out for a surface that wasn’t there. His palms scraped against the ground as he lost his purchase on the edge and fell.


	4. The Puzzle Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley reach their destination, and Crowley starts trying to solve the puzzles protecting the Star Stone.

Crowley snapped his fingers and Aziraphale landed unceremoniously, but safely, on the ledge. Crowley looked over at him and saw that he’d injured his head. Humans really were incredibly, _frighteningly_ fragile. Crowley would just have to...

“Crowley?”

Shit. Crowley lowered his hand. He couldn’t use a miracle now that Aziraphale was aware of what was happening.

“You’re all right, I told you it would be fine.”

Aziraphale brushed his palms together to rid them of dirt, then touched his fingertips to his forehead just above his eyebrow, bringing his hand down in front of his eyes and wincing when he saw blood. He looked up, and Crowley’s gaze followed, both identifying the jagged rock jutting out that had caught Aziraphale’s head. It showcased some of his blood to prove it. Unable to miracle the wound away, Crowley did the only thing he could to help.

“Don’t worry, I have a first aid kit in here.” The first aid kit appeared in his bag with another snap of his fingers, and he pulled it out and crouched down beside Aziraphale. He had come to Aziraphale’s rescue many times, for things _much_ more serious than this (Aziraphale at risk of being beheaded or shot sprang to mind), but somehow he had never felt quite this anxious about the harm that might befall his best friend.

Crowley tugged on a pair of latex gloves, opened up an antiseptic wipe and thrust it onto the wound. Aziraphale yelped in pain and pulled back, raising his arms up protectively in front of his face.

“Just press it right on there, why don’t you?” Aziraphale grumbled. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“’Course I do, sit still.”

Crowley made an effort to be more gentle, not actually knowing how it would feel to have an antiseptic wipe shoved onto an open wound. Aziraphale’s reaction had struck him right in the heart, forcing it to beat harder. The last thing he wanted was to cause Aziraphale any further pain; surely he’d been through enough already?

Crowley focused intently on what he was doing, cleaning the wound a little bit at a time before opening up a dressing and securing it in position, pretty badly, with surgical tape. Aziraphale had started watching him while he worked, looking up at him with slightly parted lips, and Crowley made sure to keep his attention on the wound and not let his gaze drift to look into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

They crawled into the narrow cavern cut into the hillside, Aziraphale stumbling several times over tree roots that had penetrated the rock, Crowley’s heart leaping into his throat each and every time he did.

“How did you know this was here?”

“Research,” Crowley equivocated, and was pleased that Aziraphale didn’t press him for specifics.

The further into the cavern they travelled, the less the sunlight was able to penetrate. Crowley manifested a headlamp in his bag, which he extracted and fitted around his forehead.

Finally, they reached an opening at the end of the cavern, which Crowley slipped through, finding himself in a larger chamber that he had, over a thousand years ago, visited before. He turned around and watched Aziraphale twist sideways to squeeze through the gap. The chamber was empty save for a thick metal surface supported by a frame, which had the appearance of a table. Crowley unfastened his headlamp and placed it on the ground in one of the corners to illuminate the chamber.

“Is this the object you were trying to find?”

“For _somebody’s_ sake, Aziraphale! I told you it’s not that I’m trying to _find_ it, I know it’s in here!” Crowley huffed. “And no, this isn’t it; this is what protects it. I just need to work out how to open it, but that’s what all the books were for.”

Aziraphale, with another quick touch to the dressing on his forehead (possibly making sure it was still attached after Crowley’s feeble efforts with the surgical tape), settled himself on the floor in the corner, his legs stretched out in front of him. Crowley looked over him, but satisfying himself that Aziraphale wasn’t in any immediate danger of unconsciousness or discorporation (no, he wouldn’t discorporate, he would _die_ , Crowley shuddered to realise), he began inspecting the table. Soon he was grinning smugly to himself, extracting his arm from one of the straps of his bag and dropping it to the floor.

Crowley extracted some of the books from the bag, placing one of them at one end of the table and a big pile of them at the other. The table shifted under their weight, and Crowley smiled. One more should do it, he thought, adding another book to the pile. Nothing happened.

Crowley glared at the table, stepping back to examine it. Perhaps it was still slightly off... He spent another ten minutes positioning the books in different combinations, none of them yielding the results he wanted. He aggressively swept all the books off the table and let them drop to the floor.

“Fuck!” Crowley’s frustration built to a point that he could no longer contain it. Aziraphale’s head whipped up, those expressive eyes trained on him with a mixture of concern and apprehension that knotted his stomach and forced him to unclench his fists. “This should be working! I don’t understand!” Crowley let out a low growl and threw his head back, glaring vaguely in the direction of Heaven through the layer of rock above his head.

“Talk it through with me,” Aziraphale offered calmly. “It might help to think it through aloud.”

Crowley breathed in deeply and then huffed the breath back out forcefully. He crouched down and scooped up one of the books, flipping it open to the right page and holding it out so Aziraphale could read it.

“The verses and puzzles are coded to indicate the order in which they need to be solved. This one references the serpent and the apple tree. The beginning. It goes first.”

“Yes, that makes sense.”

“And remember when we were talking about it before? It’s about _balance_. I was hoping it would be obvious how to apply that when I got here, and I really thought it was. The table is tilted, see? I thought I’d just need to balance it.”

The thought that the thousand years that had passed since the Star Stone was moved here could easily have resulted in damage to any kind of mechanism put in place to protect it didn’t bear thinking about. Crowley had provided the demonic power originally required, blending with the ethereal power of the Stone, to ensure that it couldn’t be accessed using miracles, else there would have been little point in hiding it. He knew many demons who would have done far worse things than they were normally capable of to get their hands on something like this. Unfortunately that meant that if Crowley couldn’t solve the puzzle that lay before him, the Stone would be trapped forever. But every puzzle has a solution... there had to be something Crowley was missing. He dragged a hand through his hair.

“Maybe there’s just a little more to it,” Aziraphale tried to reassure him. He even reached out and touched Crowley on the forearm as he crouched before him holding the book open. Crowley stared down at Aziraphale’s hand and, probably as a result, he immediately retracted it. Crowley grieved the loss of his touch. “Is the verse about anything other than balance?”

Crowley pushed the book more towards Aziraphale, successfully encouraging the other man to take it from him so he could collapse his head down into his hands. As he considered the verse, he tried not to dwell on the part about an angel and a demon _embracing_.

“Or any part of it you haven’t been able to interpret?” Aziraphale continued gently. “I might be able to help? You did suggest that I might, and so far all I’ve managed to do is demonstrate how frighteningly unfit I am and then get myself injured,” he chuckled. Crowley reluctantly dragged his head back up to face Aziraphale.

“ _Hanged and gifted_ I don’t really understand,” Crowley confessed. Aziraphale studied the verse and read the line aloud.

“ _Hanged and gifted, raise my eyes below_

_Abandon mixtures, dilutions_

_I seize them both.”_

“I get the last part. It’s about balance being created by having both sides working together, rather than trying to find something intermediate,” Crowley explained. Aziraphale hummed in understanding.

“This rather reminds me of something,” he mused. “Could you pass me the bag I was carrying please, my dear?”

Crowley blinked and leaned back, caught off guard by Aziraphale’s use of the hypocorism. He turned and shuffled away, leaning across the dusty ground and dragging the bag towards him. Aziraphale reached forward, and Crowley noticed the effort he made to keep his head still as his hand rooted around in the bag. Crowley desperately wanted to use a miracle to heal him, or at least take away some of the pain, but was too afraid. He had hoped that after all of his work on this, retrieving the artefact would have been straightforward and Aziraphale’s injury would no longer be an issue.

Aziraphale withdrew a book about Tarot from the bag and started flicking through it.

“Here, _The Hanged Man_ , it’s one of the major arcana. On the face of it, one would assume this to be a bad sentiment, but the man isn’t _being_ hanged, he is choosing to hang upside down, and by doing so he has the privilege of seeing things differently. It’s all about changing your perspective, seeing the good in what you once thought was evil, perhaps. And that would fit with your other interpretations, would it not? That even a demon could be _nice_?”

There was a hint of teasing in Aziraphale’s voice, that familiar mock-disparaging tone that had led many an unknowing onlooker over the years to believe they were actually a married couple. It wasn’t the first time Aziraphale had spoken to him that way today, and Crowley’s heart sank low in his chest. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on what Aziraphale was saying.

“And the following words then, _raise my eyes below_. Because the man is hanging upside down, he looks up to see what is normally below him, because he’s changed his perspective. Maybe the table needs to be _balanced_ , but from a different perspective?” Aziraphale suggested. Crowley pressed his palms to the floor and raised to his feet, brushing the grit and dust from his hands. He circled the table, eyeing it critically, bending down and twisting himself into various positions to inspect it from all angles.

Crowley had placed books on both sides of the table, rather than just the one needed to balance it, because he had understood that meaning in the verse. But Aziraphale was right, there could be more to it. Crowley started sliding his hands along the edges of the table. He pushed down on it, then he pulled at it... and it started to lift. By applying a little more force, Crowley was able to lift up and flip over the entire surface. He heard something rolling around inside of it. He lowered the surface on its previously concealed lever back into a horizontal position, still unbalanced, but now in the opposite direction.

Crowley’s heart started racing as he gathered up the books he had removed and placed them back down to bring the table into balance. He heard a click, and a thin gap appeared between the two halves of the surface, wide enough for him to get a fingernail in to begin to prise it apart. The top of the surface was a lid, just a thin piece of metal covering what lay beneath. He lifted up both halves, which folded back neatly, and choked out an involuntary sob of relief before turning back to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale had both palms pushed down on the floor and was forcing himself into a more upright position to get a better look at what had happened. He blinked hard, touched his hand to his forehead and winced again.

“Don’t let this go to your head but you might actually be a genius,” Crowley smiled softly, trying to restrain his enthusiasm. He wanted more than anything to throw his arms around Aziraphale and tell him not to worry, that everything would be all right soon.

“Oh, thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale beamed, but his eyes were still squinting against the pain he was experiencing. “I’d like to see it. Could you help me up please?”

Crowley studied him uncertainly for a moment, then crossed the chamber and crouched down beside Aziraphale, reaching one hand behind him for a second to discreetly snap his fingers. He couldn’t bear the thought of Aziraphale enduring so much pain anymore. He would just take away a _little_ of the pain, and maybe a little more after another hour or so... surely not enough for Aziraphale to suspect anything. He placed his hand down on Aziraphale’s shoulder blade before using the other to grasp his arm and help him to stand.

“You all right?”

“Yes, actually I think I am. The pain is improving,” Aziraphale smiled. Crowley licked his lips and turned away to hide the colour that had appeared on his cheeks, retracting his arms from Aziraphale, who hobbled cautiously over to the table.

They both peered down at it and found themselves looking at a grid protected by a pane of glass. On top of the glass, in the centre, was a small metal box, the lid of which was also a grid, but this one much smaller. There was a latch on the box, so Crowley reached forward and opened it, retrieving a bundle of four metal rods from inside it. They were the perfect size to slot into the grid, he just needed the right combination.

“You said the clues had an order to them, so what’s next?” Aziraphale asked, his expression glowing as if this was the greatest adventure he had ever been on, as if averting the apocalypse, trying to evade capture during a revolution just to access superior quality crepes, or getting embroiled in messy business involving a Nazi spy ring had never happened.

“ _Five on one side, one another, point of passage, towards each other_ ,” Crowley recited from memory. “Look, I need to tell you something. I knew this needed two people, that’s why I asked you to come with me.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured, clasping his hands together in front of him. There was a tiny twitch of the muscles in his face, which might have gone undetected by anyone who hadn’t spent the last six thousand years getting to know him, and it betrayed his disappointment. Crowley had learnt to identify every miniscule facet of Aziraphale’s expressions, showing him when his temptations were working, when Aziraphale’s apparent frustration was feigned, and when he was pushing too far, ultimately leading to Aziraphale pulling back.

Then of course there were those _other_ expressions... those furtive glances and smiles, the widening of eyes and the dilation of pupils, the redness peppering his cheeks, which Crowley had hoped he might now actually be able to act on, before Aziraphale had been so cruelly taken away from him.

“Obviously not the _only_ reason,” Crowley offered. “Wouldn’t have got this far without you, would I?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together but, as always, the rounding of his cheeks and the slight wrinkling around his eyes gave away his true response. Crowley was finding that it was easier to compliment Aziraphale now, and actually revelled in the responses it was earning him. Once this was all over, he intended to compliment Aziraphale every single day for the rest of time.

“Stand at one end of the table, there must be something underground detecting the weight,” Crowley instructed, gesturing towards it. Aziraphale complied, and Crowley stood at the opposite end.

“I take it you know what you’re doing?”

“Yeah, s’easy,” Crowley shrugged nonchalantly, when he’d actually not been entirely sure about this part until he’d seen the four rods just now. He reached out and placed them into the grid, creating a triangle shape. He could see Aziraphale watching with overt curiosity, and smiled to himself at Aziraphale’s restraint, as he hadn’t actually asked what Crowley was doing. “The original was in Latin; five being V and one being I, they fit together to make a triangle, like an arrow. Pointing at me,” Crowley began, before reaching forward and twisting the box, “now pointing at you.”

Another clicking noise emanated from the table, and Crowley detached the box, placing it carefully on the floor beside him. Aziraphale was staring at him with an expression of pure astonishment.

“This is _incredible_ ,” Aziraphale gasped. “I think _you_ might be the genius, my dear.”

Crowley placed his hands on the pane of glass on top of the grid and disregarded Aziraphale’s praise. “Give me a hand, would you?”

The two of them worked together to carefully slide the glass from the top of the surface, carefully propping it up against the edge of the chamber. The larger grid beneath was now exposed, and it was evident what had made the rolling sound Crowley had heard when he’d flipped the surface. Inside the grid there were a further eleven rods and nine balls. In the centre of the grid was an embossed ouroboros, a snake feasting on its own tail. _Wouldn’t catch me doing a weird thing like that_. Aziraphale reached out and traced his fingertips over it.

“Every end is a new beginning,” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale glanced at him and smiled thoughtfully. If only he knew. After they had faced the end together, Crowley had thought it was going to be more than a new beginning for the world, he had really thought it was going to be a new beginning for the two of them as well: different parameters, different rules. No more Arrangement. A whole new relationship.

“This looks like it’s going to be more complicated,” Aziraphale stated rather obviously, picking up one of the balls, his eyebrows knitted together for a moment before he relaxed and smiled. “Oh! Your constellations!”

“Yep,” Crowley grinned proudly, even permitting himself to wink at Aziraphale. Aziraphale coughed and clutched his fingers around the ball in his hand, bringing his other hand up to rub at the back of his neck. It was quite satisfying to think he could still get Aziraphale flustered despite the fact he had no memory of him. Crowley allowed himself to enjoy it, after all, things were going extremely well. He was quite sure that soon this would all be over, and he had decided that he could never risk losing Aziraphale again. He never wanted to be apart from him, and he would tell him that, and he would tell him how much he respected and admired him, and how life without him had been unbearable.

He hoped that soon an angel and a demon _would_ be embracing - that perhaps that part of the verse truly was prophetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the story so far, I'll post some more tomorrow! :-) As always, thank you for reading and for your comments/kudos, they solve my riddles and unlock my secret hiding places (I don't know, I'm into month six of self-isolation now and I don't think I know how to make sense anymore).


	5. The Phallus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley takes out his frustration in a rather immature way before they give up for the day and return to their bed and breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter lengths are all over the place with this one because I'm just breaking them up where the POV shifts, so here's a chunky one for you!

Aziraphale watched Crowley laying out the balls representing the stars on the grid and then placing the rods between them to create a pattern. He didn’t recognise the constellation Crowley created, but one wasn’t often blessed with the opportunity to see the stars in London.

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered as Crowley placed the last rod into the grid. He couldn’t wait to finally see what this mysterious artefact was that the man had been looking for, something that was obviously so important to him. And to _someone else_ , but Aziraphale pushed that thought aside. Well, he _intended_ to push it aside, but it was difficult not to think of the intensity of Crowley’s frustration when his first attempts to open the mechanism had failed, and the longing look of adoration in his eyes when he had spoken of ‘ _someone important_ ’.

Aziraphale tried telling himself he was being ridiculous. He had known the man for a matter of _days_. It was just that it didn’t _feel_ like that. Aziraphale felt like he had known him all his life, and even Crowley’s grumping, groaning, frustration and snide comments hadn’t been enough to put Aziraphale off. Crowley was truly incredible; creative, mysterious, intelligent, _secretly_ caring even if he did try to hide it, and truly unlike anyone Aziraphale had ever known.

“Fuck!” Crowley growled again, a little more restrained than last time. “It didn’t work.” Crowley stepped away from the table and flopped down onto the floor beside his bag, pulling out his notebook.

“Can I help?” Aziraphale offered.

“No, it’s all right. No one knows the stars like me,” Crowley muttered. “Thanks though,” he added as an afterthought.

Aziraphale opened up one of the books and started reading, glancing up occasionally to watch Crowley work. Sometimes he was very quiet, sat on the ground hunched over one of the books or scribbling something in his notebook. Sometimes he talked to himself. Sometimes he stood and circled the table, inspecting the grid, reaching out to touch the ouroboros. Then he would be back to placing rods and balls in the grid, and Aziraphale would always watch in case this was the time that something happened, but that moment didn’t come.

Crowley had been sitting quietly for a long time before he abruptly rose to his feet.

“Oh, do you know what? It’s ok! I think I’ve got it!” Crowley announced, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Aziraphale put his book down, then stood and approached the table. Crowley aggressively snatched all of the balls and rods from the grid, giving him a blank slate. Then, as if he was performing the most delicate surgery, he slowly and deliberately placed two of the balls next to each other, followed by one of the rods protruding up from them. He opened his arms and gestured to it as if he was showing off a fine piece of art he’d created.

“That’s a little childish, don’t you think, my dear?” Aziraphale scolded with a shake of his head. Then he flinched. It was hardly appropriate to be speaking that way to Crowley; he really wasn’t acting like himself, there was something about this man that brought out his inner bastard. Crowley was clearly upset and this artefact was incredibly important to him, and Aziraphale should be more compassionate.

Aziraphale had constructed all sorts of stories in his mind about Crowley, his working theory being that perhaps the artefact was extremely valuable and that Crowley was going to use the money to pay for a lifesaving procedure for his beloved. If that were the case, how could Aziraphale let himself be so cruel? He drew in a deep breath. “It’s a lovely phallus but let’s try something else, shall we?” he suggested gently.

Aziraphale reached out to remove the balls and the rod from the grid, hesitating as his hand approached them, put off by what they now resembled. He hoped Crowley was too distracted to pay any attention to the fact he had actually said ‘ _lovely phallus_ ’. He kept his face hidden from Crowley, not wanting him to see the blush that had quite emphatically asserted itself on his cheeks. When he felt the heat start to dissipate from his face, Aziraphale turned and saw that Crowley had his head bent down, pressing the tips of his fingers to his temples. Then he snapped back into action, grabbing books from around the chamber and dumping them back in the bags.

“S’no good, it’ll be dark soon. I need to do more work. We should head back to the B&B, come back here tomorrow.” Crowley sounded absolutely despondent, and Aziraphale’s heart ached.

“All right. Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out.”

Crowley responded with an unintelligible sound, shrugged and swung his bag of books over his shoulder. Then he reached for the other, the one Aziraphale had carried up the hillside. Aziraphale reached out to take it. “Nah, I’ve got it,” Crowley mumbled, and then squeezed back into the narrow cavern that led them back to the outside world.

Crowley didn’t say a word as they made their way down the hillside, nor on the drive to their B&B. Aziraphale struggled, but managed to stop himself from continually looking over at Crowley and asking him if he was all right. Of course he wasn’t, and Aziraphale fussing about it wasn’t going to help. The rush he had felt earlier when Crowley had been inspired by his words, even though Aziraphale could never have figured out the verse for himself, had been wondrous, and he longed to feel that rush again. He doubted his ability to solve a puzzle that this incredible scholar had failed to solve, but perhaps he could unknowingly offer further inspiration.

“Bet you’re hungry,” were the first words Crowley had said to Aziraphale in about forty-five minutes.

“Famished,” Aziraphale replied, patting his stomach.

“Right. Let’s get dinner then, I can work while you eat.”

“Oh, you won’t be eating anything?”

“Not hungry.”

They decided to get dinner in the pub next to the B&B, and Aziraphale intentionally ordered food that would be easy for Crowley to reach over and steal should he decide he actually _was_ a bit hungry, but no such thing happened. Crowley sat with his elbow on the table, leaning his head in his hand and staring at his notebook, occasionally drawing combinations of circles and dashes on the pages.

Crowley groaned, shoved his notebook away from him and crashed his head down on to the table, earning them a few glances from their fellow patrons that held more judgement than concern. Aziraphale smiled politely at them, although he felt more inclined to glare, before turning his attention to Crowley. He had rolled his head onto its side, eyes closed, as if intending to sleep here.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale ventured delicately, but received only barely decipherable mumbling in reply. Aziraphale sighed and reached out for the notebook. Crowley had copied down one of the verses, and Aziraphale admired his sophisticated, flowing handwriting.

_Fallen angel, bequeathed to me_

_This stone in time to restore he_

_Punished by those that he betrayed_

_The sky performs its cycles as they rise and fade_

_To start anew throughout this place_

_Above he, them both, fallen from grace_

_Seek out my sanctuary to retrieve the stone_

_Else the serpent be cursed to be alone._

Aziraphale desperately wanted to be useful, but he had no idea how this could relate to nine balls and eleven rods. He could just about see where Crowley had got the idea of forming a star pattern, ‘ _the sky performs its cycles as they rise and fade_ ’ could easily be a reference to the changing constellations as the year progressed. How Crowley had settled on _which_ star pattern he thought was needed remained a mystery.

“Perhaps we should retire for the evening?” Aziraphale suggested, when Crowley still hadn’t moved after several minutes.

“Yeah. All right.”

They returned to their room, which they had visited earlier to drop off their belongings. Crowley had already claimed the bed nearest the window, which he now threw himself onto rather dramatically. Aziraphale perched stiffly on the side of his own bed, unfastening the clasps on the overnight bag he’d packed and extracting his toiletries and tartan pyjamas and retreating to the bathroom.

At one point, Aziraphale turned his attention to his wound and the dressing on his forehead. Crowley hadn’t done a particularly professional job with it, and Aziraphale actually considered it a _miracle_ that the dressing was still in place. The tape was peeling back, some of it folded in on itself, other parts with strands of Aziraphale’s hair stuck to it. He grimaced as he pulled his hair free. Oh well, it would have to do, and at least it didn’t hurt as much now. The pain had been steadily fading throughout the day, surprisingly quickly in fact, and he really couldn’t be bothered to change the dressing now. Muscles he hadn’t realised existed were making themselves known, and Aziraphale twisted uncomfortably, rolling his neck and shoulders. He just wanted to get into bed.

Today had been nothing short of bizarre, and even that description hardly did it justice at all. Aziraphale had felt like he was dreaming, seeing things through his own eyes but not in control of what was happening. He had gone along with everything Crowley, by any reasonable definition a _stranger_ , had told him to do. He had felt things he really shouldn’t be feeling. He had taken a front row seat to the kind of momentous discovery he would normally only have the privilege of reading about, watching Crowley work to solve the riddles. There had been moments when he had questioned what he was doing, but for the most part he had simply drifted along with it, and couldn’t quite explain why.

By the time Aziraphale emerged from the bathroom, Crowley had moved slightly, just enough to remove his shoes, jacket, scarf and waistcoat and prop himself up on the bed. Aziraphale’s eyes were drawn to his chest, slightly exposed by his grey V-neck, and he forced himself to turn away, directing his attention to returning his toiletries to his bag and folding his clothes neatly on a chair.

Aziraphale pulled back the covers and clambered into the bed with a groan, his tired muscles protesting against the manoeuvre. It wasn’t the most luxurious, but it would do. After all of the travelling, the trekking up and down the hillside and the excitement and anguish the day had served him, he was pretty sure he could sleep on anything.

“How’s your head?” Crowley mumbled from his side of the room.

“Oh... it hurts,” Aziraphale chuckled, turning to face him. He was _still_ wearing those sunglasses. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Should change your dressing.”

“Oh, right,” Aziraphale murmured reluctantly, feeling he had little choice now but to do so, but really not keen on the idea of getting back out of bed. “Do you have the first aid kit?”

“S’alright, I’ll do it,” Crowley replied softly, rolling elegantly off the bed and crouching down to rummage through the bag he’d been carrying during the day, withdrawing the first aid kit and approaching Aziraphale’s bed.

Aziraphale’s heart leapt up and pulsated against the walls of his throat as Crowley perched on the bed beside him, first aid kit balancing on his lap. Aziraphale shuffled up and rested his head on the headboard. Crowley attending to his injury the first time had been hard enough to endure, the way he had crouched beside him and given him his full attention, his expression full of concern and perhaps even a hint of regret and responsibility, although it was so hard to read him properly without being able to see his eyes.

Crowley unzipped the kit and started extracting the items he needed, placing them down on the bed beside him. This was definitely worse than earlier; it felt so much more _intimate_. Aziraphale was in _bed_ , wearing nothing but his pyjamas, and Crowley was sitting _so close_ right beside him. Aziraphale could even feel the side of his thigh pressing up against him through the covers.

Crowley pulled a latex glove over each hand and then leaned over Aziraphale, carefully removing the old dressing, which he placed on the bedside table. Crowley opened an antiseptic wipe and shuffled even closer to Aziraphale, his leg pressing harder against his side, sending sparks of electricity throughout Aziraphale’s body. He leaned in close, using one hand to tenderly smooth Aziraphale’s hair away from the wound, which then rested there unmoving, before delicately touching the wipe to the corner of the wound with the other. He was so incredibly careful this time, and Aziraphale’s heart swelled in response. Crowley moved the wipe slowly and methodically across the wound to clean it and his knuckles brushed against Aziraphale’s temple, the tips of his unoccupied fingers resting on Aziraphale’s eyebrow as he worked. A tingling sensation spread from the top of Aziraphale’s head and spread throughout his body, and he felt incredibly safe and protected.

As the day had gone on, with every passing second that Aziraphale spent with Crowley, that feeling he had experienced of attachment, connection and _knowing_ only got stronger and stronger. If someone had reminded him that he had only known Crowley for two days, his instinct would have been to declare it preposterous, but of course his logical mind also knew that it was true. Aziraphale wondered if this was what was meant by ‘love at first sight’, a phenomenon he had always disregarded as impossible. There could be _lust_ at first sight, and yes, well, there had been rather a lot of that when Crowley had entered his shop yesterday, but this was definitely something more. But he couldn’t possibly love a man he had just met. He just _couldn’t_.

Crowley gently pressed the clean dressing over the wound with one hand, removing his other from Aziraphale’s hair to rip the tape and secure it in position, more attentively than he had last time. Aziraphale’s scalp tingled.

“Thank you,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders again before scooting down in the bed, letting out a small groan when his muscles once again objected to the movement.

“Are you hurt somewhere else?”

“Oh, no, not really. As I’m sure you can tell my body isn’t particularly used to hiking up steep hills,” he chuckled, bringing his hand up to rub between his neck and his shoulder. When he withdrew his hand, it was almost immediately replaced by Crowley’s. Aziraphale’s eyes widened, his lips parted and his stared up at the man leaning over him. He watched Crowley bring his other hand towards him, and soon he was massaging both of his shoulders.

“This all right?” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale sighed contentedly.

“Actually it’s rather lovely.” Crowley’s hands stilled and squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulders a little more tightly than was comfortable. “Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, was that inappropriate? I’m sorry, I don’t...” Aziraphale wished he could better read Crowley’s expressions. He was still wearing those damned sunglasses for heaven’s sake.

“No, no, no, it’s not, it’s fine, you’re fine.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just... you remind me of someone.” Crowley sighed and resumed massaging Aziraphale’s shoulders, gently applying pressure and working his way towards Aziraphale’s spine, bringing both hands to the sides of Aziraphale’s neck and then pushing his fingers up into his hair. Aziraphale felt like he was simultaneously shivering and on fire, and the tingling that had been permeating his body gathered into a dense ball and settled itself low in his abdomen.

He couldn’t remember such a minor amount of contact eliciting this strong an effect in him before. He couldn’t actually recall specific encounters, but something told him that a response like this normally required more of an _effort_. Aziraphale shifted his hips on the bed, an image returning to his mind of Crowley’s phallus. Well no, not _Crowley’s_ phallus, just the rod and balls and _oh, good Lord_.

As good as this felt, no matter what Crowley had said it _was_ inappropriate and Aziraphale needed to put a stop to it. Crowley clearly wasn’t trying to solicit this reaction, and there was that person he had spoken of whom he cared for so deeply... Crowley dug his fingertips into either side of his spine and Aziraphale moaned with pleasure. No, this wasn’t right. Aziraphale needed to try something to make Crowley realise that.

“So, this person you’re retrieving the artefact for,” Aziraphale ventured, his voice catching slightly. Crowley reduced the pressure but didn’t stop what he was doing, his hands having worked their way back outwards to massage Aziraphale’s upper arms. Crowley tilted his head so that his eyes were pointed towards Aziraphale’s face rather than focusing on his own hands, and Aziraphale once again wished desperately that he would take off those sunglasses. “Have you sent them a message now we’re back in civilisation to let them know about your remarkable progress?”

Aziraphale didn’t actually own a mobile telephone (and again found himself wondering why this was another thing he hadn’t got around to; he really must sort that out when he got back home), but he knew enough to know there was not an angel’s chance in hellfire that the signal would have reached up that remote hillside.

“No, I haven’t,” Crowley murmured, stilling his hands completely and studying Aziraphale for a while. Aziraphale’s shoulders tensed but he didn’t look away from Crowley, and the moment went on and felt incredibly intimate. “I can’t, it’s not... there's no way to reach them." A tear emerged from behind Crowley's sunglasses and rolled down his cheek. Aziraphale's heart shattered.

“Oh, Crowley, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale began shuffling himself back up into a seated position with every intention of embracing the other man, but Crowley withdrew his hands, scooped up the first aid kit and retreated to his bed before he had chance.

“It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

Crowley abruptly switched off the lights in the room, plunging them into almost total darkness. Aziraphale scooted back down and settled himself in bed, listening to Crowley move around. How he was finding his way around was a mystery. Aziraphale could hear him sliding off his clothes and placing them down on his side of the room, and tried very hard not to conjure an image in his mind to accompany the sounds. Then he heard the rustle of blankets and something being carefully deposited on the bedside table. He must _finally_ have taken off those sunglasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Crowley's POV next to see what he's been thinking about all this! ;-)


	6. The Apple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley grapples with his feelings about getting close to Aziraphale last night. Aziraphale has a moment of inspiration.

Crowley made sure to wake up early so he could put his sunglasses on before there was any risk of Aziraphale seeing his eyes. He’d decided if it did happen he would just tell him they were novelty contact lenses, after all, Aziraphale must have assumed by now that he did have a particular interest in snakes. Strange to wear novelty contacts and then keep them hidden all the time though, so it would be better not to have to enter into that conversation at all. He missed being able to look at Aziraphale properly without that barrier between them.

Last night hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. Not that Crowley had particularly had a plan, but if he _had_ , that wouldn’t have been it. As much as Crowley had learnt to read every tiny change in Aziraphale’s expression, the two of them had been locked in something of an evolutionary arms race when it came to that: Crowley getting better at reading him as Aziraphale got better at trying to hide his feelings. But Aziraphale had no memory of their relationship, the gentle push-and-pull over the centuries, and his emotions were now entirely laid out for Crowley to read like a book, and the more Crowley read, the more he saw that Heaven had failed to completely eradicate the impression he had made on Aziraphale over the past six thousand years.

These moments were always laced with flickers of confusion, Aziraphale clearly grappling with trying to understand what he was feeling, but beneath that, it was all there. Attraction; an undeniable attraction that Aziraphale felt towards Crowley in every possible way. Trust. Respect. Compassion. Reverence. Affection. Self-worth. Awe. Longing. _Love_.

He tried to tell himself that this was not really Aziraphale, but it _had_ to be, because no human could develop these feelings in such a short space of time. It was like an echo of Aziraphale, the true Aziraphale, or a shadow, an indelible imprint left on him that couldn’t be destroyed. Aziraphale had never let Crowley see him so openly, he had always remained guarded, and it was a privilege to be granted this opportunity to see how he truly felt without Aziraphale stepping back and raising the barriers between them.

So he had given into temptation. He had seized the excuse to be close to him, to reach out and touch him, and the way Aziraphale had responded to his touch had left him breathless and in awe. Knowing that he could manifest such pleasure and relaxation for Aziraphale with such a simple touch was almost overwhelming.

He had convinced himself that he deserved that moment, the opportunity for closeness, and that perhaps if all else failed, perhaps they could spend some time together this way, even if Aziraphale was human? Maybe, if things went well, one day he might even be able to reveal the truth to him, and at least he would have a little bit more time with him, and would have the chance to say all the things he had wanted to say after they’d averted the apocalypse. He could care for him, protect him and keep him safe, and at least he would have the chance to say goodbye... But Aziraphale’s words had reminded him that the man in front of him was _not_ his angel, and he was overcome with guilt, retreating as quickly as possible.

Crowley had been awake for about three hours by the time Aziraphale eventually stirred. The dressing on Aziraphale’s wound had come loose during the night, so Crowley lobbed the first aid kit across the room for Aziraphale to catch as he shuffled into the bathroom, and tried oh so hard to ignore the hurt and confusion the action had clearly inflicted.

Crowley managed to eat a small pastry at breakfast along with his coffee, lest Aziraphale really start to worry that he might pass out from lack of sustenance on the trek back up the hillside. Aziraphale enjoyed a full cooked breakfast followed by two pastries with his pot of tea. He explained that the exertion of the day before had left him with quite an appetite.

Crowley made sure to carry all of the books himself this time, having felt rather guilty for allowing Aziraphale to take one of the bags the day before. He had done it because it seemed like something two humans would do, but he had regretted it immensely when he’d seen how much Aziraphale was struggling. He was so desperate to just get all of this done and get to the Star Stone, and only hoped Aziraphale didn’t feel that his frustration was truly directed towards him.

The countryside was just beginning its transition into autumn, and the fallen apples littering the ground at the summit mocked Crowley and earned themselves an intense glare. There was a young apple tree growing beside the mature one that had produced the fruits, and Crowley kicked at its fragile trunk, which bent under his aggressive attentions.

“Don’t do that!” Aziraphale admonished. “How has an apple tree ever hurt you?”

“You _did not_ just ask me that,” Crowley stated incredulously, giving the young tree another, even more forceful, kick for good measure. He wasn’t in the best of moods. Not only was he dealing with the ache of regret from his actions towards Aziraphale, but even after his further work last night, he wasn’t actually sure how to solve the puzzle of the grid.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale chided again, coming to stand between Crowley and the offending plant as if trying to protect it. Crowley held his palms up in surrender. Aziraphale’s eyes then widened, and he cast his gaze all around them. “ _Fallen below are apple seeds_ ,” he recited. Crowley’s aggression towards the plant softened ever so slightly, and he shifted his attention to Aziraphale.

“What about it?”

“Could I borrow your notebook? And the book with that verse in it?”

Crowley let the bag drop from his shoulder and rummaged around until he found what Aziraphale had asked for. Aziraphale settled himself on the ground next to the young apple tree, avoiding the fallen apples from its parent, and found the right page in the book.

_“_ Yes, I thought so, that isn’t the only mention of seeds, look. _Angels only if demons know light and shadow, and embrace their foe. Their union sets seed for me to sow,_ ” Aziraphale recited, his eyes glimmering with excitement that Crowley just couldn’t quite get on board with. “And this,” Aziraphale continued, setting the book aside and flicking through Crowley’s notebook until he found the right page. “ _The sky performs its cycles as they rise and fade, To start anew throughout this place, Above he, them both, fallen from grace._ ”

“What about it?” Crowley grumped, giving the young apple tree another stern glare out of the side of his eye.

“Is this why you thought the answer was a star pattern?” Crowley desperately wanted Aziraphale to get to the point. The answer was _obviously_ a star pattern, it was guarding the _Star Stone_ for Hell’s sake. Crowley shrugged. “I think it’s something else, look, it says _the sky performs its cycles as they rise and fade,_ so while the constellations are changing, something else is happening, and I think it’s this,” Aziraphale finished, picking up and apple from the ground and holding it out to Crowley. Crowley grimaced and pulled away. There was something seriously wrong with Aziraphale offering him an apple. Aziraphale sighed and placed the fruit back down on the ground before reaching into the bag to find a pen.

“It’s talking about annual cycles. A seed,” Aziraphale began, drawing a circle in Crowley’s notebook that he had balancing on his lap. “Then sends up a shoot,” he ran his left hand affectionately down the trunk of the young apple tree, while drawing another circle in the book, this time with a line coming out of the top of it. “Then it branches out, and then finally it creates its own fruit. It _sets seed_. _They rise and fade, To start anew throughout this place_.”

Crowley grabbed the notebook from Aziraphale. He had sketched out four symbols, one representing each stage of a plant’s annual growth, the seed and the fruits on the ends of the branches represented by circles (a total of nine), and the trunk and the branches represented by lines (eleven). Crowley’s eyes flicked back to the verse:

_Above he, them both, fallen from grace_

He had known this had referred to he and Aziraphale, but the ‘ _above’_ he had assumed referred to Heaven. But as Aziraphale had already astutely deduced, it was all about _perspective_. If you were in Hell, or even in a secret chamber cut into the hillside, the ground itself and all of nature along with it would be above you.

It all made sense.

“Oh, I could kiss you!” Crowley exclaimed, reaching down to tightly squeeze Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale looked away bashfully and brought a hand up to cover his face, and it was absolutely _adorable_ , but Crowley had more important things to think about. He shoved the books back in the bag and practically sprinted to the ledge, ready to jump down.

“Don’t hurt yourself this time. I’ll go down first and help you, all right?”

Aziraphale smiled and nodded. Crowley jumped over the edge, bending his knees as he made contact with the ground before standing and reaching his arms out to Aziraphale. “I’ll catch you, come on.”

Aziraphale opted for a facing-forward approach this time, and shuffled as far over the edge as he possibly could before committing to the jump. Crowley caught him in his arms, but didn’t hold on for a second longer than he needed to before releasing him and entering the cavern.

Aziraphale was trailing quite a way behind him, but Crowley couldn’t contain his excitement, eagerly leaping over roots and dodging around rocks as he made his way into the larger chamber. By the time Aziraphale joined him, Crowley had already fit about half of the balls and rods into the grid. He started on the left, with the ball on its own, moving across until he was placing the final ball on the end of one of the lines on the right hand side.

Nothing happened.

“Oh, Crowley, I’m sorry...” Aziraphale began, reaching out towards him. Crowley narrowed his eyes and considered the grid for a second.

“No, no, no, it’s all right, this isn’t it!” Crowley announced hurriedly, tracing his fingers around the ouroboros. “It was talking about _cycles_ , the symbols need to be in a circle, not a line. The tree sets seed and then the whole thing starts over again, a new tree starts growing. _To start anew_.”

Crowley hurriedly removed the balls and rods from the grid and started to reposition the symbols as though they were points on a compass: the seed at West, the new growth at North, the mature plant at East, fruiting at South, and then while drawing in a deep breath, he placed the final ball into position.

Still nothing happened.

“No, no, no, no, this is it. This _has_ to be it!”

Aziraphale touched his arm, and this time Crowley wasn’t so quick to dismiss the gesture of condolence. He looked over at Aziraphale, his heart feeling twisted and battered, and placed his hand tentatively on top of the one now squeezing his arm, before withdrawing and turning to stare at the grid. This was the _perfect_ solution, they had thought of _everything_ , so why wasn’t it working? Crowley threw back his head and growled.

“Crowley, it’s all right. You figured everything else out, you’ll work this out too. Everything’s going to be all right.” Aziraphale now had both hands on his arms, stroking up and down, and that was beyond what Crowley had the strength left to endure. The tears that had been building up in his eyes began to spill over and run down his cheeks. “Oh, Crowley, come here, it’ll be all right.”

Aziraphale removed his hands from Crowley’s arms and wrapped them around him, drawing him into a hug. Crowley grabbed hold of him, pulling Aziraphale tightly against him while tears streamed down his face. What if this was it? What if this was all they could ever have? What if he failed? The thought of letting Aziraphale down absolutely crushed his heart, and he sobbed hard, clinging on to Aziraphale and grasping at the fabric of his coat. Aziraphale was whispering soothing noises and pulled him even closer, nuzzling his head into Crowley’s neck, the entire length of their bodies pressing into each other so closely that they practically occupied the same space...

_Click_.

They pulled away from each other, each staring at the other with wide eyes and lips parted.

_Angels only if demons know_

_Light and shadow, and embrace their foe._

_The union sets seed for me to sow._

“Aziraphale...” Crowley breathed, placing a hand tenderly on his cheek before turning his head towards the table. The symbol of the ouroboros had shifted, with a gap beneath it just big enough for Crowley to slide his fingers into it and lift it up.

Crowley sobbed, his hands trembling as he withdrew them. The ouroboros formed the lid to a box, and there inside of it lay the Star Stone. Aziraphale shuffled closer and leaned forward to get a better look. He actually seemed slightly dissatisfied, like he had been expecting something more impressive. It was glowing with ethereal power, but such things were concealed from human eyes.

“Is this what you were looking for?” Crowley obviously let the ‘ _looking for_ ’ comment slide, his entire body shaking, his heart pounding, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “What is it?”

“The Star Stone,” Crowley wheezed, gulping in air and trying to steady his breathing. “It’s a piece of original creation.”

“Aren’t you going to take it? Or were you thinking you might just leave it here?” Aziraphale teased.

“You take it,” Crowley insisted, failing to conceal his desperation.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” Aziraphale replied, shaking his head. “This moment is yours, Crowley.”

“No, no, no, I couldn’t have done this without you. _Take it_ , Aziraphale. Pick it up. Hold on to it. _Please_.”


	7. The Breaking of Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale picks up the Star Stone...

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and watched Crowley for a moment; it didn’t make any sense for him to be the one to retrieve the artefact from the box, but Crowley was being very insistent and it quickly became evident that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Aziraphale squinted at Crowley, giving him one final opportunity to change his mind. Crowley continued to stare at him imploringly, and still with no idea why he trusted this man so much, Aziraphale reached into the box.

In his hands, the stone immediately transformed from something mundane into something that could only be described as _ethereal_. It glowed with light of the purest white, the deepest, shimmering gold and all of the colours of the most wondrous nebulae, with the power of a hundred supernovae. Of course, the stone hadn’t actually transformed at all, but _Aziraphale_ had, and he was now able to see its true form. Once all of its power had seeped into him, the stone dulled in his hands.

“Aziraphale?”

“Crowley...”

Aziraphale took a small step towards him, then caught himself and clasped his hands together in front of him. Crowley’s eyes widened. “Aziraphale!”

Crowley stepped forward determinedly and closed the distance between them, stopping right in front of Aziraphale with his hands twitching, clearly restraining himself from embracing him as they had moments before. Aziraphale _really_ needed to give some thought to that, and everything else that had happened. His head was swimming with too much information to process; he would just have to take one thought at a time in whatever order they occurred to him.

“Oh, the books!”

“What about the books?”

“I sold a second edition of _The Canterbury Tales_!”

“For fuck’s sake, angel!”

“It was _illustrated_ , Crowley!”

“ _That’s_ what you’re focusing on?”

“It might be all right; the purchase was made by telephone and the buyer hasn’t been into the bookshop yet to collect it. I’ll just have to explain that there’s been a _terrible_ mistake...”

“You need to stop talking about books. You need to stop talking about books _right now_.”

Aziraphale pouted and turned his head away from Crowley. The movement caused him pain and he winced. Crowley snapped his fingers and the wound on Aziraphale’s forehead healed and the dressing disappeared, along with all the aching he’d been experiencing throughout his body. He was reminded of the sensation of Crowley massaging his shoulders last night, those strong but delicate hands working their way across his tired muscles... but old habits were quick to reassert themselves, and he forced the image from his mind.

“Oh, thank you.”

Aziraphale turned his attention to his next thought and looked down at his hands, still holding the stone he had extracted from the box.

“The Star Stone?” he posited, glancing up at Crowley long enough to see him nod in confirmation of his theory. “I’d heard rumours about this; a piece of original creation taken by an angel when he fell. It was rumoured to even be able to restore a demon to Heaven.”

“Yes, that’s obviously why I took it.”

“To use it yourself?” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.

“In case I ever wanted the option,” Crowley shrugged. “That’s out the window now though; it only had enough power to use once.”

“Oh, Crowley that’s incredibly...”

“Don’t. I was never gonna use it. Y’think I'd wanna go back to Heaven and have to look at Gabriel’s smug face? At least in Hell for the most part what you see is what you get, less of the _corporate politics_ and ‘ _the ends justify the means’_.” Aziraphale held onto the Star Stone more tightly, parting his lips and looking at Crowley with immense gratitude and wonder. At first, Crowley averted his eyes and shrugged it off, but then returned his gaze to Aziraphale and continued slowly and sincerely. “I didn’t need it, angel, _you_ did. And now I know that’s what it was for all along, it was part of the ineffable plan.” Crowley reached out and took the depleted artefact from Aziraphale’s hands.

“If you _know_ it, it’s not really _ineffable_ , my dear,” Aziraphale pointed out. Crowley squeezed his eyes closed.

“Oh, you really need to shut up.”

“Now, now, there’s no need for that, Crowley. I’m very grateful that you made this sacrifice for me, even if you _did_ drag me up a muddy hillside in Wales without warning.”

“And if I’d warned you, then _what_? You’d have worn _different shoes_? A nice chunky pair of sturdy, reliable walking boots perhaps?”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Well no, of course not, I _have_ standards.”

They had fallen back into their usual pattern, as if the embrace and the tears and the tenderness had never happened. It was all beginning to feel like a dream.

“Let’s go home,” Crowley suggested, and Aziraphale nodded in response. Crowley held out the bags of books to him. “Your turn to carry them, and yes, don’t worry, you can have all the books back. How much did you charge me, anyway?”

“A very fair and reasonable price.”

“Yeah, sure you did.”

So they left the cavern, and Aziraphale took the time to process what had happened. Realistically, he knew that Crowley must always have been aware of his feelings, but he had always tried to keep them guarded, and in return, Crowley had never pushed too far. Whenever he did try, Aziraphale had pulled away, but it had only ever been out of concern for Crowley’s safety. Surely he could move past that now, after everything that had happened? But six thousand years did indeed make for a habit that would be hard to break.

Aziraphale remembered what it had been like to be human and to spend time with Crowley, to _feel_ for Crowley, unencumbered by the memories of all that had happened, the awareness of everything of which he should be afraid. He was also utterly aware of how openly he had displayed those feelings, and how Crowley had responded with tenderness and affection. He wanted more of that.

The two of them walked side by side down the hillside, Aziraphale’s shoes miraculously avoiding anything that could cause them any damage. He kept turning to look at Crowley, but it was a while before he found the courage to speak, and ended up finding himself rambling.

“Do you know, I’ve been thinking about that final puzzle. I assume there was a mechanism in the ground that we activated when we stood closely together, and the same must have happened when we were at opposite ends of the table. That ouroboros was _very_ clever; that the final part of the solution, the _embracing_ part, was in the verse that solved the _first_ puzzle, just like the ouroboros itself, going back to the beginning at the end. And it’s rather funny, because I _did_ actually have a serpent wrapped around me at the time,” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Oh, we’re _talking_ about this now, are we?” Crowley grumbled. Aziraphale held up his hand and Crowley bumped into it before he stopped walking.

“Yes, I think perhaps we should.”

“S’ok, angel, we don’t have to. Whenever you’re ready, if you’re _ever_ ready. It’s fine.”

“I’m ready now. If you have anything you’d like to say to me?”

Crowley scowled at him and Aziraphale smiled smugly in return, but Crowley ensured that smug smile was soon wiped from his face.

“Well, I did catch you ogling me when we were walking up here this morning, _and_ yesterday.”

“Oh...” Aziraphale licked his lips and stared down at the ground. “I am sorry about that. Being human was a rather strange experience. There were some _unexpected_ consequences.”

“ _Unexpected_?” Crowley shook his head and started walking again. Aziraphale hurried to keep up with him and touched his hand back to his arm. Crowley stopped and tilted his head.

“ _Yes_ , unexpected. _Not_ how I was feeling, but that I couldn’t control it,” Aziraphale murmured sheepishly. “I couldn’t mask it like I normally can.”

“You’re not as good at _masking_ as you think, and I really don’t see why you feel the need.”

“You’ve seen what they’re capable of,” Aziraphale whispered cautiously, pointing a finger discreetly upwards.

“They won’t come after you now, angel. They’re gonna be fucking terrified when they realise that what they tried to do to you hasn’t worked, and besides, I’m not gonna let them anywhere _near_ you.”

“That would be most appreciated,” Aziraphale smiled. They stopped and just looked at each other for a while, before Crowley stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale. A few seconds passed before Aziraphale reciprocated, tentatively lifting his arms and placing his hands lightly on Crowley’s back. As hugs go, it was quite stiff and formal, lacking any of the passion of their embrace inside the cavern, but it was a start. Crowley dropped his arms and Aziraphale followed suit, but they remained standing closely together.

“I’m just gonna say it, ‘cause I promised myself if I got you back I would,” Crowley began. He was shuffling from one foot to the other, hands wedged into his pockets, and Aziraphale nodded to encourage him. “When you were gone, it wasn’t just _like Hell_ , it was worse than Heaven and Hell put together! I hated myself for not being able to protect you. When you looked at me and didn’t know who I was, it completely broke my heart. I have always admired and respected you, Aziraphale, and I never want to let you out of my sight. I can’t live without you. I love you.”

Aziraphale pressed his hands to his heart. He had felt Crowley’s love for millennia, but for him to openly acknowledge it could potentially change everything. Aziraphale tried to push all his worries aside, with the freedom he’d had when he’d been human, because Crowley deserved to hear how he truly felt so they could finally move forward, and _start anew_.

“Oh, Crowley... I may not have remembered who you were but no matter what they did to me, Heaven could never take away how I feel about you, I’m sure you could see that. I have always admired and respected you too, although I am quite aware that I haven’t always shown it. All those things I said, when I said I didn’t like you, of course none of that was true. I was _scared_ , Crowley, and I’m sorry. I’m rather certain you know this already but I do perhaps think it’s time I actually said it. I love you too.”

Aziraphale licked his lips and reached up, wanting to be the one to initiate their next embrace. This time it felt more relaxed, and rapidly became more insistent as they both let their feelings seep out into the open. Crowley pulled Aziraphale tightly to him, and Aziraphale did the same, allowing his hands to run up Crowley’s back, wanting to _feel_ him, to _know_ him in this way that he had held back from for so long. Several minutes passed before they stepped back from each other and recommenced their descent down the hillside.

“There was one other thing,” Crowley began, a demonic twinkle in his eye. “I also wanted to tell you that I heard when you said _lovely phallus_.”

“Oh dear.”

“I bet you were having all sorts of naughty thoughts, weren’t you, angel?” Crowley was trying to bite back a grin.

“No! Of course not!”

“Really? Not even when you were in bed last night?” Crowley teased.

“Well... it did feel rather nice... the way you were touching me,” Aziraphale offered hesitantly. “I experienced a wonderful sensation when you moved your fingers through my hair. If you wouldn’t mind, I would very much like to experience that again.”

“Oh, I can do _much_ better than that, angel,” Crowley grinned, turning his head to wink at Aziraphale, who suddenly became extremely interested in watching where he was placing his feet, his cheeks burning. Crowley placed a hand on his lower back as they walked. “It’s good to have you back, Aziraphale.”

“Yes, it’s good to _be_ back. Well, it _will_ be once I sort out that terrible misunderstanding with _The Canterbury Tales_.” Crowley snapped his fingers.

“Already taken care of,” Crowley grinned. Aziraphale smiled at him fondly, holding the gate at the bottom of the hill open for Crowley as they headed back to the Bentley.

Crowley was _his_ ouroboros; the serpent that had always been circling around him. Crowley was his forever, his infinity, his beginning and his end. Crowley would wrap himself around him and never let go, and Aziraphale had no intention of ever letting go either. Crowley had explained that the verse about the serpent was about embracing all of the different parts of yourself, and Crowley _was_ a part of himself, and he was thoroughly looking forward to embracing him as often as he possibly could until the end of time, and beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading, I hope you enjoyed! :-)


End file.
